


Adagio cantabile

by derryday



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, Prompt Fill, Sharing Clothes, mute character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 10:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14768120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryday/pseuds/derryday
Summary: In which, in the privacy of her bedchamber, the Empress of the Isles makes a bold fashion statement.





	Adagio cantabile

"--and he’s so _paranoid,"_ Jessamine’s voice drifted over from the antechamber, along with an aggravated rustling of paper. "This is the third telegram this week! It is seven in the morning! There’s nothing that could possibly be this urgent!"

Corvo burrowed his head deeper into the pillow. Perhaps if he just held still and breathed slowly, he would fall back asleep. The tail end of his dream still lingered. It'd been something about a sunny meadow... light, beloved footsteps behind him, and no weight of weapons pulling on his belt...

It was early yet. When he opened his eyes to tiny slits, he saw only the diffuse, powdery light of early morning, and the cool glow of a whale oil lamp from the other room.

"... And then he comes into my _office_ all the time," Jessamine muttered. "I'm not a castle under siege, you know. I have more important business to attend to than my Spymaster's histrionics." 

Corvo dozed lightly. The Tower was waking. Pipes clanked far away as the kitchen maids prepared their simple breakfast fare before getting started on the Empress' first meal of the day. Far down below, gravel crunched under a carriages wheels. A horse snorted and stamped its hooves, the metal bit tinkling.

"But no!" Jessamine said. "Hiram Burrows will gladly send the cogs of this Empire grinding to a halt if it means he gets five minutes to complain to me about the City Watch..."

Corvo groaned quietly. They had about an hour before Jessamine's maidservants would knock on the door, and by the Void, he'd planned to spend most of that hour sleeping. 

Then Jessamine would kiss him awake, as if he were a maiden in some fairytale. Her lips would be soft and warm on his forehead, his cheek. The ends of her hair would trail ticklishly down his arm. He'd murmur sleepily, squirming as the mattress sunk under her weight.

Corvo would open his eyes to that soft, almost-smiling look on Jessamine's face, the one that always made his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. They would kiss. Both of their mouths would be sour with morning breath. Minutes would tick by, slow like honey, and perhaps Jessamine would sink back down into the bed with him, pressing her chilled toes to his calves and giggling at his flinch...

Soon after that, Emily would come running, slipping past her nanny's clutches and shrieking a war cry as she launched herself at Jessamine's bed. 

She would probably land on Corvo's stomach with all of her five-year-old weight. A wet, smacking good morning kiss would be deposited somewhere near Corvo's ear. Emily would ignore his pained wheezing and launch immediately into a long winded retelling of her dreams, what she'd eaten for dinner, and how her dolls had slept, and wasn't Corvo cold in just his underwear?

But at last they would remember the time, and Corvo would have to scramble into his clothes with barely five minutes to spare. The handmaiden's knock would send him running for the secret passage behind her vanity that connected Jessamine's bedroom to his. He'd pull it shut behind himself just as the door to the antechamber opened, just barely dodging discovery.

He sunk almost into sleep again. The sheets were so soft--no matter how many nights he'd spent in the Empress' bed, his skin would always prickle into goosebumps from the silky fabric. His feet were wonderfully warm, kept cozy by the sheepskin that a thoughtful maidservant had deposited at the foot of the bed.

Jessamine's voice was a distant murmur. The rustling of paper mingled with some cobwebbed half-dreams. For a moment Corvo was back in that sunlit field, a number of fat, pollen-dusted bees buzzing by his ear. A slim, cool hand slid into his, entwining their fingers...

Corvo woke with a small jolt. Disoriented, he stretched a little, feeling the rasp of the pillowcase against his stubble. The cool touch to his hand was Jessamine's vacated spot in the rumpled sheets.

Footsteps padded softly in the next room. "Perhaps he just enjoys wasting paper," Jessamine was murmuring. "Three telegrams, really. He's on a crusade against the paper mills."

There was a pause. A floorboard creaked in warning. Louder, Jessamine said, "Corvo, are you listening to me?"

Oh, Void. His ruse ruined, Corvo lifted his head. The knotted tangle of his hair drooped into his eyes. He blinked sleepily at his Empress, doing his best to look attentive and wide awake.

Jessamine stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised. She wore only her chemise, no bloomers, and had shrugged on his discarded coat.

The dark blue fabric draped heavily around her shoulders. Morning light shimmered on the simple gold embroidery. The cuffs of the sleeves kept slipping over her hands. Golden buttons clinked together. 

"Corvo?"

Corvo shook himself. He was staring, he knew, his mouth stupidly half open, probably affording her an unwelcome view of the stub of his tongue. But Jessamine's hair draped loosely over her shoulder, the sloppy braid she'd worn to bed half unraveled, and Corvo had a dizzying moment where he thought he might find one of her hairs on his shoulder later, long and glossy black...

The coat was much too big for her. The tails hung down to her ankles, almost brushing the floor. Jessamine folded her arms, shaking her wrists to slip the cuffs off her hands, and her fingers were so slender, flushed from the snug warmth that built up in the cuffs, and he wondered what the coarse lining felt like against her soft skin...

Corvo's hands moved on their own accord. He signed slowly, as if in a dream. _'Did you answer the door like that?'_

Jessamine gave him an exasperated look. "Of course not. But I was cold, and your coat is much warmer than my morning robe. Besides, you're not using it right now."

A small note of defensiveness had crept into her voice. Corvo hastened to sit up, the sheets pooling around his waist. He touched the tip of his index finger to his nose, then drew it down in an arch until it pointed forward: _'I don't mind.'_

"Oh," Jessamine said. "Well. It's very warm."

Corvo nodded dumbly. It was.

They looked at each other. Jessamine was reddening slowly, a blush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. He saw her throat work as she swallowed. Her gaze drifted over him like phantom fingers, a light caress that lingered in places: the untidy mop of his hair, the collar of love bites around his neck...

She'd still been holding Burrows' telegram. It fluttered to the ground now, forgotten, and came to rest propped up against the open door.

Jessamine stepped closer. Her bare feet stepped lightly on the wooden floor. Corvo could not have looked away from her if he'd tried. Her chemise was so thin, and she'd shrugged on the first thicker garment she'd found, which had happened to be his coat. His coat, keeping her warm, draping its pressed and lined fabric across her slim shoulders.

Her hand came to rest on the rumpled sheets. She sat down slowly. The chemise wrinkled around her soft belly, the lace edging draping over the coarse lining of Corvo's coat.

Oh, the way she looked at him. Her eyes were luminous blue, all-seeing and analytical. It was that look he knew so well from Parliament, only it was not hidden now, behind her calm, cool public mask. 

Corvo wanted to squirm under that gaze. It was like she reached right into his spinning thoughts and picked each of them up with slim, elegant hands.

"You like it," Jessamine said, with some surprise. "You like that I am wearing your coat."

Corvo flinched a little. He peered cautiously at her, trying to gauge her reaction. He didn't-- it was not just a possessive thing, rising from some primal part of him and roaring its approval. This felt softer, gentler: a simple, deep-seated satisfaction that she'd seen his coat and shrugged it on without hesitation.

It was too big for her, but it kept her warm. It rubbed the silk chemise against her back, and goosebumps might have risen on her soft skin in its wake. Perhaps she'd shivered at the first touch of the cool fabric. But Corvo knew it'd warmed quickly, cushioning her in sturdy lining.

Jessamine bent forward and kissed him. The mattress sunk under her weight. Her lips were dry and warm and so very soft against his.

It was odd to smell his coat on her, leather and metal and faint traces of gunpowder and oil. He closed his eyes and sighed against her lips. 

His strong, capable Empress was kissing and kissing him, slipping two gentle fingers under his chin to tip his face towards her. It melted every thought in his head, every little bit of awareness shrinking and slipping away. 

There was no real urgency in the soft kisses Jessamine bestowed upon him. They were just that--gentle caresses, to be tasted and treasured.

"You don't know how good you look in this coat," Jessamine whispered. "Sometimes in Parliament I want to pull you into some deserted alcove and..."

She sighed against his mouth, wistful and almost longing. She said, "I just want to touch your shoulders."

Corvo bit back his surprised laugh as best as he could. A snort still came out, and he tried to turn it into a cough-- he did not want her to feel ridiculed, but-- his _shoulders?_

"Don't laugh," Jessamine admonished, but softly. "I like them."

She drew back a little, blinking at him. She was blushing harder now, he saw--deep pink had spread across her cheeks.

She fitted her palm around his neck. Her touch was shockingly warm in the cool air. Corvo shivered as she slid her fingers to the sensitive throb of his jugular. She touched his collarbone, running her thumb gently along the little ridge.

It was not like him to fish for compliments, but he had to ask. _'Why my shoulders?'_

Jessamine shrugged one shoulder, a little bashful. "I don't know. They're so..."

She gave another one of those soft sighs, the ones that made the fine hairs at the back of Corvo's neck stand on end. She slid her hand up to cradle his cheek and kissed him again, a single, insistent press of her mouth on his.

He did not know how long they sat there, exchanging lazy kisses. He only knew that Jessamine slid almost into his lap, and that her sleep-warm scent clung to the collar of his coat. It was something quintessentially Jessamine--some residue of her perfume, soft, rumpled sheets and a trace of sweat. Corvo would catch its faint note every time he turned his head, and he would spend the day utterly absent-minded, losing track of his own thoughts.

She nipped gently at his lower lip. The faint scrape of her teeth left a tingling warmth in its wake. He knew that somewhere, a clock was ticking, but it seemed so very far away, and Jessamine was brushing his hair out of his face with careful fingers...

His hands felt nerveless and limp. Nevertheless, he marshalled command of them. _'Emily will come soon.'_

"Yes," Jessamine whispered, entirely unbothered. She'd leaned back to look, and now her breath puffed against his mouth again, so very close. "She'll want to wish her father a good morning."

Corvo hesitated. He felt warm and languid, but the old fear still reared its head, washing a slight chill down his spine.

There was no way to properly swear a five-year-old to secrecy. It was probably only a matter of time until Emily told someone about how, on some mornings, she found the Royal Protector in her mother's bed. 

And then the whispers would start, and gossip would spread. And Corvo would be unable to do anything. It was the one thing he could not protect them from. He'd have no choice but to watch helplessly as his low birth dragged Jessamine's reputation through the mud...

"Hey," Jessamine said. "I know that look. Stop it." And she touched her fingers to the furrow in his brow, like she could wipe his thoughts away.

Corvo swallowed hard. _'You are not worried?'_

"Corvo," she said. "You worry enough for both of us. No, I'm not worried. I am glad you are here with me."

He felt himself blush. His ears warmed along with his neck and cheeks. Sometimes she spoke so gently to him that it made him want to squirm and bask in it at the same time, stretch out like a cat under a sunbeam.

"You should worry about Burrows instead," Jessamine said. She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "He is not going to be very happy with me."

Corvo raised his eyebrows in a question. "His telegram landed on the floor," Jessamine explained. "I've outright forgotten what it was about. You are very distracting."

He couldn't help but smile, his heart lightening. 'I _am distracting? You are the one who decided to put on my coat.'_

"And what a nice coat it is." Jessamine toyed with the cuffs of the sleeves, too big for her though they were, running a finger along the golden seam. "What do you think, should I go to Parliament like this? That'll shut the Pendleton twins right up."

Corvo huffed a small laugh. He could almost see it: Jessamine striding into the big council chamber, wearing nothing but her chemise and Corvo's coat. Her bare feet would sink into the expensive carpet. For once the Pendletons would be struck speechless, gaping and blinking laboriously against the dense fog of their hangovers.

Still, that frightened part of him couldn't help but cringe. The Pendletons, with their mean-spirited jabs and underhanded comments... they were like sharks in the water, sleek and deadly, ready to tear into living flesh...

 _"Cor-_ vo," Jessamine said. She brushed her fingers over that crinkled spot between his eyebrows again.

He shook his head to clear it. She was right. He did not want to spoil their morning with his fruitless fretting. If Jessamine herself was not worried about her reputation, then who was he to presume to worry about it in her stead?

It was him who leaned in, this time. He pressed his lips to her mouth, and she sighed into the kiss, rising up to meet him. Her lips were hot from the kisses they'd shared, from the scrape of his stubble against the sensitive skin.

Morning sunlight peeked through the gauzy curtains, still cool but warming further by the minute. It caressed the nape of his neck along with Jessamine's fingers--she'd wound her arms around his shoulders. She toyed with a strand of his hair, pulling gently every so often, sending shivers down his spine.

The Clocktower chimed to announce the half-hour. Jessamine clutched at him reflexively. Corvo stilled in her hold, bemused.

She drew back and gave him a searching, narrow-eyed look. "No running?" she asked

Corvo shook his head. It was true that the old restlessness still roiled in the back of his mind (what if the handmaiden came earlier, what if the Pendletons found out, what if Emily told someone about them...). It felt almost wrong to push those thoughts away.

But Jessamine's hands were so gentle, and her lips tasted a little sour from sleep. Her arms were a heavy, reassuring weight on his shoulders. The fabric of his coat rubbed roughly against his bare skin.

And he wanted to spend this last, precious hour with this family, before the day would whisk them away to their respective duties. He wanted to listen for the pitter-patter of Emily's footsteps in the hallway. He wanted to sign good morning to her doll and hear all about his daughter's dreams.

 _'No running,'_ Corvo signed into the warm space between them. And Jessamine beamed at him, smiling in unabashed delight. _'I've heard that my daughter might want to wish me a good morning.'_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt #1 from Tumblr's [Acts of Intimacy](http://derryday.tumblr.com/post/174302571432/acts-of-intimacy-select-from-the-following-and) ask game, "Finding the other wearing their clothes." The timeline for this is 1832 or thereabouts. The title is from the [second movement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCL5sHzlDOI) of Beethoven's _Pathétique,_ which I listened to while writing. It means something like 'slowly, like singing'.
> 
> Nobody asked for this, no. But I have a love/hate relationship with writing prompts--I love them, but I'm not nearly active enough on Tumblr to have the kind of regular readership you'd need to get actual asks. So I thought, fuck it, I can write things if I want to, even unprompted!


End file.
